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And the beams of morn lie dead
Like a meteor, whose wild way
Padua, thou within whose walls
Noon descends around me now:
In thine halls the lamp of learning, Padua, now no more is burning ;
Of the olive-sandalled Apennine Envying us, may even entice
To our healing paradise
By that clime divine and calm,
And the winds whose wings rain balm Darkened this swift stream of song, On the uplifted soul, and leaves Interpenetrated lie
Under which the bright sea heaves ; By the glory of the sky :
While each breathless interval Be it love, light, harmony,
In their whisperings musical
The inspired soul supplies
Circling, like the breath of life,
All things in that sweet abode Autumn's evening meets me soon, With its own mild brotherhood : Leading the infantine moon,
They, not it would change ; and soon And that one star, which to her
Every sprite beneath the moon Almost seems to minister
Would repent its envy vain,
And the earth grow young again.
SCENE FROM “TASSO"
Maddalo, a Courtier. PIGNA, a Minister. 'Mid remembered agonies,
MALPIGLIO, a Poet. ALBANO, an Usher. The frail bark of this lone being) Pass, to other sufferers fleeing,
Maddalo. No access to the Duke ! And its ancient pilot, Pain,
You have not said Sits beside the helm again.
That the Count Maddalo would speak
with him? Other flowering isles must be
Pigna. Did you inform his Grace In the sea of life and agony :
that Signor Pigna Other spirits float and fee
Waits with state papers for his signature? O'er that gulph: even now, perhaps, Malpiglio. The Lady Leonora canOn some rock the wild wave wraps,
not know With folded wings they waiting sit That I have written a sonnet to her For my bark, to pilot it
fame, To some calm and blooming cove, In which I
Venus and Adonis. Where for me, and those I love, You should not take my gold and serve May a windless bower be built,
me not. Far from passion, pain, and guilt,
Albano. In truth I told her, and she In a dell 'mid lawny hills,
smiled and said, Which the wild sea-murmur fills, “If I am Venus, thou, coy Poesy And soft sunshine, and the sound Art the Adonis whom I love, and he Of old forests echoing round,
The Erymanthian boar that wounded And the light and smell divine
him." Of all flowers that breathe and shine : O trust to me, Signor Malpiglio, We may live so happy there,
Those nods and smiles were favours That the spirits of the air,
worth the zechin.
Malpiglio. The words are twisted in O Leonora, and I sit some double sense
still watching it, That I reach not : the smiles fell not Till by the grated casement's ledge
It fades, with such a sigh, as sedge Pigna. How are the Duke and Breathes o'er the breezy streamlet's edge.
Duchess occupied ?
The Duke was leaning,
seat, And so her face was hid ; but on her
Come, be happy!--sit near me, knee
Shadow-vested Misery : Her hands were clasped, veined, and
Coy, unwilling, silent bride, pale as snow,
Mourning in thy robe of pride,
Desolation-deified ! And quivering-young Tasso, too, was
there. Maddalo. Thou seest on whom from
thine own worshipped heaven Come, be happy !--sit near me: Thou drawest down smiles- they did
Sad as I may seem to thee, not rain on thee.
I am happier far than thou, Malpiglio. Would they were parch- Lady, whose imperial brow ing lightnings for his sake
Is endiademed with woe. On whom they fell !
Sometimes I see before me flee
There our tent shall be the willow,
Because they once were sweet, shall lull What but mockery can they mean, Us to slumber, deep and dull.
Where I am--where thou hast been?
WRITTEN IN DEJECTION, NEAR NAPLES
Ha! thy frozen pulses flutter
ingIs thine icy bosom leaping While my burning heart lies sleeping?
Kiss me ;-oh! thy lips are cold:
IX lasten to the bridal bed Underneath the grave 'tis spread : In darkness may our love be hid, Oblivion be our coverlid-We may rest, and none forbid.
The sun is warm, the sky is clear, The waves are dancing fast and
bright, Blue isles and snowy mountains wear The purple noon's transparent
Like many a voice of one delight, The winds, the birds, the ocean floods, The City's voice itself is soft like Solitude's.
II I see the Deep's untrampled floor With green and purple seaweeds
strown; I see the waves upon the shore, Like light dissolved in star-showers,
thrown: I sit upon the sands alone, The lightning of the noontide ocean
Is flashing round me, and a tone Arises from its measured motion, llow sweet! did any heart now share in
X Clasp me till our hearts be grown Like two shadows into one; Till this dreadful transport may Like a vapour fade away, In the sleep that lasts alway.
XI We may dream, in that long sleep, That we are not those who weep; E'en as Pleasure dreams of thee, Life-deserting Misery, Thou mayst dream of her with me.
Let us laugh, and make our mirth,
Alas! I have nor hope nor health,
Nor peace within nor calm around,
The sage in meditation found,
leisure. Others I see whom these surroundSmiling they live, and call lise plea
sure;To me that cup has been dealt in another
Of evening till the star of dawn may Yet now despair itself is mild,
fail, Even as the winds and waters are;
Was intersused upon the silentness ; I could lie down like a tired child,
The folded roses and the violets pale And weep away the life of care
Ileard her within their slumbers, the Which I have borne and yet must
Of heaven with all its planets ; the dull Till death like sleep might steal on And I might feel in the warm air
Of the night-cradled earth; the loneliness My cheek grow cold, and hear the sea of the circumfluous waters, - every Breathe o'er my dying brain its last
And every flower and beam and cloud
and wave, Some might lament that I were cold, And every wind of the mute atmosphere,
As I, when this sweet day is gone, And every beast stretched in its rugged Which my lost heart, too soon grown old,
cave, Insults with this untimely moan;
And every bird lulled on its mossy bough, They might lament-for I am one
And every silver moth fresh from the Whom men love not, -and yet regret,
grave, Unlike this day, which, when the Which is its cradle-ever from below
Aspiring like one who loves too fair, too Shall on its stainless glory set,
far, Will linger, though enjoyed, like joy in To be consumed within the purest glow memory yet.
Of one serene and unapproached star,
As if it were a lamp of earthly light, THE WOODMAN AND THE
Unconscious, as some human lovers are, NIGHTINGALE A WOODMAN whose rough heart was
Itself how low, how high beyond all
height out of tune
The heaven where it would perish ! (I think such hearts yet never came to good)
and every form Hated to hear, under the stars or moon,
That worshipped in the temple of the
night One nightingale in an interfluous wood
Was awed into delight, and by the charm Satiate the hungry dark with melody ;
Girt as with an interminable zone, And as a vale is watered by a flood,
Whilst that sweet bird, whose music Or as the moonlight fills the open sky Struggling with darkness—as a tuberose Peoples some. Indian dell with scents Of sound, shook forth the dull oblivion which lie
Out of their dreams ; harmony became
love Like clouds above the flower from which In every soul but one.
they rose, The singing of that happy nightingale In this sweet forest, from the golden And so this man returned with axe and
was a storm